Catherine and Henry
by WritingImagination
Summary: [Sequel] What happens after Northanger Abbey? Catherine and Henry Tilney are now married. Rated M just to be safe, no violence, some brief suggestive parts. (Cover image: PublicDomainPictures on Pixabay)
1. Newlyweds

**Chapter 1: Newlyweds**

Catherine Tilney had never thought that she would ever be the centre of attention. Having been plain for most of her life, and being unaffectedly modest, one can easily imagine her surprise at becoming an object of curiosity to so many people. Well, although Woodston is a populous village, it is still a village, and therefore it can be concluded that there were not quite so many people, yet for Catherine who had grown up plain in tiny Fullerton, it suddenly seemed like a lot of interest was directed her way.

When Mr. and Mrs. Tilney had returned from their delightful honeymoon in London – which Catherine thought had greatly eclipsed Bath in her eyes, although she would always remember Bath fondly for that is where she had met her beloved Henry – they had been greeted by many visitors. People would call at the parsonage constantly, hoping to meet the new Mrs. Tilney. Mr. Tilney was the much-respected clergyman of Woodston and it is not surprising that his recent marriage would raise some curiosity. Before Mrs. Tilney's arrival in Woodston following the honeymoon, all that was known of her was that Mr. Tilney had met her in Bath and that she had been in Woodston once before, though she had been observed by few. This scarce information was enough to give the lady an aura of mystery, which she would have delighted in, as it reminded her of the heroines of her favourite Gothic novels.

After a few weeks, Catherine had met the principal inhabitants of Woodston and they had determined her to be a very kind-hearted, guileless, and candid young woman. Her artlessness gave her a peculiar charm. Mr. Tilney was gratified, although not surprised, in seeing her so universally well-liked by the people of Woodston. Catherine and Henry were settling happily into married life and were – if it were at all possible – becoming even fonder of each other with each passing day. Catherine was still Catherine, her admiration for Gothic novels had not ceased in the least, but she was also learning to expand her horizons by consuming different types of novels and books in general. She was always impatient to discuss something she had read with Henry, but he would not tell her his opinion on the subject before hearing hers because she was still too apt to defer to his judgment.

"I would much rather you tell me what you think of it, my dear," he would tell her kindly.

"Oh, but if I say something silly, you will tease me mercilessly," she replied.

"You have good sense and you are rational, so long as you back your argument with evidence, it cannot possibly be misconstrued as silly. I may hold a different opinion, but a disagreement does not necessarily infer that one of us must be silly. Besides, _I_ might be the silly one."

He had a twinkle in his eye and Catherine laughed, " _You_ silly? Oh no, you could not be, you are always right."

"Even when I contradict myself?"

Catherine bit her lip as she thought about that, "Well, that is because sometimes you tease and sometimes you are serious."

"And if you cannot tell which is which then I have protected myself very well, and can say anything that enters my mind, and you will dismiss the silliest things as teasing and admit the most sensible things as serious."

Catherine laughed at this and conceded that this was a fair point before saying, "And yet, I remember Mr. Thorpe used to contradict himself constantly and I never thought anywhere near so well of him as I do of you."

"Which shows good judgment," Henry completed her sentence with a smirk before asking, "I am curious: what _did_ you think of my rival when he contradicted himself?"

Catherine did not bother correcting her husband, he knew very well that there had never been a rival in Catherine's heart. She had adored Henry quickly and fully, and no one would have been able to turn her away from him.

"I stopped trying to understand his true meaning. In fact, I gave up on understanding him entirely. His company was so wearisome, I ended up not listening to a word he was saying."

"A wise decision," lauded Henry with a warm smile on his face.

Catherine returned his smile and continued, "It seemed he could not utter anything that was not a coarse word, or an inanity, or a flat contradiction of something he had just said. The birds chirping was not just a more pleasant sound to listen to, it was also more educational and more sensible than anything he could possibly say."

Henry laughed aloud at this description, and his mirth was so contagious that Catherine could not help but laugh along with him, although at the time Mr. Thorpe's company had been more a cause for dread than one for hilarity.

"Oh dearest Catherine," he said after he had calmed down a little, "And to think that you usually think so well of people! And he had been recommended to you by both your brother and your friend, I wonder how bad he must have been that you can now offer this censure of him."

"I admit that I withheld a negative judgment of his character for a long time precisely because he had been recommended to me by people I implicitly trusted – but I learnt to form my own opinion although perhaps not as early as I should have. It took me some time to realise he had nothing to recommend him."

"It does you credit to give people the benefit of the doubt for as long as is reasonable," said Henry with a tender voice, "I admire your sanguinity and trust in others. I fear I am too cynical for it."

"You are not cynical, you are merely not as naïve or unsuspecting as I was then. You are a good man, but one who is not easily duped."

Henry accepted the compliment graciously.

"And now that I know what you think of Mr. Thorpe, would you please tell me – quite frankly as you always do – what you think of my father? I'm sure your opinion of him has also been altered."

Catherine paled a little at this line of questioning and squirmed uncomfortably in her chair before saying, "I do not wish to be rude, and I am grateful that he finally consented to our marriage."

"So what you have to say cannot be good," concluded Henry with a nod of his head, "Still, I would not mind hearing it."

Catherine hesitated and would not speak.

"Have no fear, Catherine," he reassured her, "I am convinced that you cannot possibly think as ill of him as I do. I have known him far longer than you have and knowing him well is the surest way of not liking him. Nothing you say here will ever reach his ears."

"Alright," replied Catherine who trusted her husband and was incapable of disappointing him, "I think the general is proud, mercenary, and cold. He is also selfish because he has put his own desires for prestige above the desire of seeing his children happy."

To Catherine it was utterly unacceptable, almost inconceivable so awful was the thought, that anyone would not put Henry's happiness above their own. Her adoration for her husband knew no bounds, and he knew it and revelled in it.

"I agree," concurred Henry.

"But let us speak of happier things," said Catherine who wanted to steer the conversation away from Henry's father – just the thought of the general was enough to cause her uneasiness. He might not be a murderer, and he might have showed her a lot of kind attentions in the past, but that did not mean she had to like him. In fact, she was still a bit scared of her father-in-law.

"What do you wish to speak of?" asked Henry, ready to oblige.

"Our plans for next week. I've been thinking we could go to Gloucester, I think a trip to the bookshop is in order and Mrs. Jones told me it is a fine city to visit. Or if the weather is very fine, we could go for a long walk in the Cotswold Hills. What would you like to do?"

Henry was delighted that his wife was apparently thrilled about exploring the region around her new home, and that with each passing day, she was less and less hesitant to demonstrate initiative.

"Both sound delightful, my love," he said looking at her pleased face, "Let us decide on the day, depending on the weather."


	2. Gloucester

**Chapter 2: Gloucester**

Among Mr. Tilney's parishioners were a family of well-to-do landowners. Mr. and Mrs. Wright had three sons and two daughters. Mr. James Wright, the second oldest son, was a particular friend of Mr. Tilney. He had quickly endeared himself to Mrs. Tilney as well, although of course anyone recommended by her husband had an unfair advantage. When he heard of Mr. and Mrs. Tilney's plans to travel to Gloucester, he eagerly asked if he might join them, for he needed to go into town, and his family was planning to monopolise the transportation methods for the day. His parents needed the carriage to go visit friends with their daughters – they were taking their daughters everywhere in the hope of them finding husbands – and his older brother Mr. Thomas Wright was taking the chaise for the day, although he was not going to Gloucester and would not say where he was going since he believed it to be of little concern to his younger brother. Of course, Mr. James Wright could have gone on horseback for he owned his own steed but he was planning to return from Gloucester full of new purchases. In light of this, Mr. and Mrs. Tilney found it difficult to refuse, even though they liked their friend dearly, they also liked to enjoy the intimacy of their first few months as a married couple. They invited Mr. Wright to join them, omitting to mention the fact that a trip to Cotswold Hills might have been their first choice for the plans of the day since the weather was so very nice.

They arrived at Longfield Hall to pick up Mr. Wright, and the opportunity was taken to introduce Mrs. Tilney to Mr. Thomas and Mr. Andrew Wright. Mr. Thomas, though he had claimed the chaise for the day, seemed in no hurry to leave. Although he was perfectly polite during the introductions, he seemed quite happy to lounge on the couch in an indolent way and observe the others as they talked. When Mr. Andrew Wright was informed of Mrs. Tilney's penchant for Gothic novels (the topic usually came up quickly) he turned to Mr. Tilney and with feigned surprise, asked him, "And you have not yet told your wife about the secrets of Longfield Hall?" Mr. Tilney laughed while his wife stared at him with wide eyes, and then she realised that Andrew Wright was teasing. She laughed good-humouredly as Andrew Wright continued, "My family lives in the most haunted place in Woodston, Mrs. Tilney. However, I am the bravest which is why I can bear to stay alone here for the day while my family runs away any chance they get."

"I am not running away," scoffed the eldest Wright, who did not seem to notice or care that his brother was jesting, "In fact, I'm the bravest one. Besides, I do not believe those silly ghost stories, they are only there to amuse the ladies, these delightfully irrational creatures who are easily scared and in want of my protection". He winked at Catherine, who was rather offended.

Mr. Tilney, who had noticed Thomas Wright eyeing his wife a little too closely for his liking since they had been introduced earlier, decided that now was a good time to take their leave. He bowed coolly and put his arm around Catherine's shoulders to guide her out of Longfield Hall.

"How about I join you in going to Gloucester?" suggested Thomas before anyone could exit the room.

James was visibly annoyed, "You insisted you needed the chaise to go God-knows-where. That's why I'm intruding on my friends' trip."

Thus, Mr. Thomas Wright could only watch morosely as his brother left with Mr. and Mrs. Tilney. Mr. Tilney, who had never thought or felt much about his friend's elder brother before, was now very glad that he was not to be of their party.

On the way to Gloucester, they could not regret their decision to have invited James. Mr. Wright was as good-humoured as ever, and they got to fill him in on the details of their trip to London.

"We stayed but a fortnight," said Catherine, "But we did something new every day and I believe we saw the main attractions of town. Of course, I could not tire of London so quickly though we did do and see so much, and I was quite desolate that we had to leave so soon, but Mr. Tilney's duty to his parish did not allow us to take any more time away."

"You could go without Mr. Tilney to visit the viscountess in town," suggested James although he realised it might not be entirely proper for a newlywed wife to desert her new husband so quickly.

"Oh, I love my sister Eleanor dearly and I am fond of London but I daresay any place loses half of its charm if Mr. Tilney is not there. No, I'd much rather stay with him at the parsonage than be parted."

James laughed and Henry blushed, although he could not hide a contented smile.

"Do not mock me, James," he warned.

"Mock you? How could I possibly mock a man who has such a loving wife? Nay, it cannot be done."

"I feared that you would argue that I do not deserve such praise," teased Henry with a smile.

"Mrs. Tilney thinks you do, and I trust her good judgment," said James with a gallant half-bow in the direction of his friend's wife.

"He does deserve it," said Catherine, "He was most patient with me and always good-humoured when I dragged him to all the monuments and to all the parties. We walked so much each day that our legs were quite hurting."

"And yet you still insisted that we spend the evenings dancing at parties, although we had walked so much during the day."

"You are an excellent dancer, I could not possibly deprive myself of that."

"It sounds like you had a great time," said James, "I should probably warn you: I already know Gloucester and will not be so complacent in being dragged crisscross through the city. I fear we must part ways as soon as we arrive."

"Of course, you have your errands to run," said Henry, inwardly glad that his friend would not be their shadow while in town.

Much like she had done in London, Catherine wanted to see everything that Gloucester had to offer. Her husband followed good-naturedly to where her curiosity beckoned her, while giving a running commentary on the history of the city for her benefit. He could not help laughing at the situation at one point and exclaimed, "We are already like an old married couple. I am traipsing behind my wife and talking to myself."

Catherine laughed and said, "Now I know for sure you are teasing me. You are not traipsing, you are very much happy to walk with me, no one _traipsing_ would smile and smirk so much. And you know I listen to every word you say."

The last part was very understated, Henry Tilney had never met someone who drank his words in as much as Catherine did – not even his parishioners on Sunday mornings. That had flattered him from the very beginning of their acquaintance, she had not known how to – and not tried to – hide her partiality for him and she still hung on to every word that passed his lips.

In addition to being well-informed on the history and the legends of Gloucestershire, Henry also knew very well which subjects particularly interested Catherine. He talked of Chavenage House near Tetbury and the headless coachman, of Berkeley Castle and the murder of King Edward II, and of Prestbury, a village near Cheltenham that was reputed to be the most haunted village in England. Catherine delighted in shivering as he told her of the hooded monk named 'The Black Abbot', and of the charging horseman, and of the headless horseman. In Gloucester itself, Catherine was fascinated by 'The Old Bell' and St Mary's square, among others.

"These stories are so gruesome," she said while clapping her hands delightedly, "that I can feel the hairs rising on my arms." And then she sighed while her face took on a faraway look, as she was absentmindedly contemplating the stories.

"Let us go into a bookshop, there must be some books on local legends," suggested Henry.

At the word 'bookshop' Catherine perked up.

"Oh yes, the bookshop, I had nearly forgotten."

Later that day, they returned home with Mr. James Wright, his purchases, and a brand-new book on local legends.


	3. A welcome novel and an unwelcome visitor

I wrote this chapter a few days ago but delayed publishing it because I wasn't sure if all of it would work well with what I've planned for Chapter 4. Unfortunately, I've been so busy lately that I haven't had time to finish writing Chapter 4. So I thought I'd just upload Chapter 3 now and figure out the rest later. Apologies if there is considerable time between chapters from now on, I think this story may even remain pending for a while (partly because of the other story I'm still working on (Miss Bingley's machinations)). I should be able to get back to writing at a normal pace from mid-February onwards :)

 **Chapter 3: A welcome novel and an unwelcome visitor**

The very next day, the Tilneys received a parcel from the viscountess.

Henry laughed on discovering its contents, "We are spoiled from all sides with books."

Indeed, Eleanor had sent them three new books.

" _The Italian_!" exclaimed Catherine, "Oh I've longed to read this novel!"

"Is there anything that can overshadow your passion for Gothic novels?"

"My passion for my husband, of course," replied Catherine without hesitation and Henry could not suppress a self-satisfied smile.

"You look entirely too smug, Mr. Tilney," said Catherine with mock sternness, "Perhaps I should stop saying these things. I fear I am flattering your ego too much."

"Smug?" Henry feigned outrage, "Before marrying me, you thought I was perfect. Alas, I fear greater intimacy has exposed my flaws."

He hung his head and lifted his eyes towards her, trying to put up a desolate face but he could not help but laugh.

"I did not think you were perfect."

"Indeed? Now I am greatly surprised. Without flattering myself, I thought your partiality for me was fairly obvious."

"Without flattering yourself?" repeated Catherine in an amused voice.

"Now I believe _you_ are teasing _me_ , Mrs. Tilney," said Henry with a smile, "Which flaws did you attribute to my character?"

"When I first met you, I thought you indulged yourself a little too much with the foibles of others."

"Oh indeed now I can see that I may have flattered myself, you saw right through me!" Henry could not help but be impressed that Catherine had noticed _his_ foible so quickly.

"Your exchange with Mrs. Allen was not so subtle, Mr. Tilney. But you were right – I was nevertheless very partial."

"Was?" asked Henry with a smile.

"Am," amended Catherine, returning his smile. She turned back to the books, "You knew about my foibles very soon I daresay, such as my naivety and my propensity to…" She trailed off there, not wanting to remind Henry of the time she had suspected his father of murdering his mother, and continued instead with, "Of course I no longer take these novels at face value – my overactive imagination does not need this extra temptation."

Henry's eyes looked at her intensely before he took her in his arms and murmured, " _You_ are my temptation."

An agreeable shiver ran through Catherine at his words, but she could not help laughing a little, "How did you ever become a clergyman?"

Henry shrugged his shoulders, "I'm a second son. I could join the military, study law, or take orders. I suppose studying the law would have been interesting, but my family owned a living – a rectorate. It was an easy decision. After my studies at Oxford, I did not think twice about coming to this parish." Then, playful again, he asked, "Why? Do you think I am not well-suited for the office of clergyman?"

Catherine lifted her head from his chest to look in his eyes and raised a hand to tenderly stroke his cheek, "You are compassionate, sincere, and capable. You can offer comfort and guidance to your parishioners. You make a very good parish rector." And then she smiled and added, "And a very good husband to a clergyman's daughter."

Henry smiled in return and said, "Did you not just vow to stop saying these things? Something about flattering my ego, I believe?"

He winked and Catherine sighed with mock exasperation, "You are insufferable." But she hugged him even closer to her.

Later that day, when her husband was away, an unexpected visitor called at the parsonage. It was Mr. Thomas Wright, and he was alone. Catherine felt that his visit was a bit improper but she was too polite to refuse to see him. She informed him that Mr. Tilney was out and he replied that he knew, that he had seen him leave. They sat awkwardly in the drawing-room, which was now fitted. Mr. Wright complimented Mrs. Tilney on her choice of furniture and decoration. Catherine accepted the compliments politely but was slightly unnerved by his constant exaggerations, his praise was too lavish to be deemed sincere or well-intentioned. His eyes were unwavering and a small smirk played around his lips. Catherine had been busy before his arrival and she felt a bit resentful that if she had to be interrupted in her work, it had to be by the one person who made her uncomfortable. She would much rather have received the visit of James and Andrew Wright. When Mr. Wright was done with his elaborated praise of Catherine's taste for furniture, he switched to praising himself. This was not odious to Catherine, who was rather amused by this, and she could not help thinking that her husband was rubbing off on her. Perhaps she was now becoming _too harsh_ in her judgment of others and their flaws. Finally, when Mrs. Tilney informed him that Mr. Tilney should soon be returned home for dinner, Mr. Wright took his leave.

When Henry returned, Catherine informed him of Mr. Thomas Wright's visit. She watched, surprised, as his face grew sombre.

"What is it, my dear? _You_ did not have to stand his company. I'm sure I've never felt so ill at ease in my entire life. He reminds me of Mr. Thorpe. And his visit was quite nonsensical."

"Catherine, surely you cannot be oblivious to this man's… admiration of you."

Catherine was, indeed, taken aback by this information. Her modesty had not allowed it to be possible. Mr. Wright hardly even knew her!

"And why do you look so displeased? I thought no man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment," said Catherine with a small smile and a teasing lilt in her voice.

"You remember that?" Henry was stunned.

"Of course."

"Well, perhaps I was wrong. It also depends on several factors."

"And which are they?"

"First, how the admiration manifests itself. Is it a few covert glances that the admirer is trying to hide or is the admirer much less discreet? Mr. Thomas Wright was unabashedly staring at you when you were introduced, and he does not respect propriety and imposes his presence on you while I am gone. He grates my nerves."

"Mine too," replied Catherine.

"Which brings me to my second point: If the admiration is unwelcome and plain for all to see, it might make the woman uncomfortable. I am offended that his constant attentions and misplaced compliments are causing you grief. A man who truly loved would realise it and quieten himself on the subject."

Henry ran a hand across his forehead in a gesture of annoyance, "Now I regret that I have just told James of our plans to go to Cotswold Hills next week."

"Why should you? He's very agreeable, I should not mind him joining us, although I do love when we get some time for ourselves. Being freshly married does not mean being isolated from one's friends."

"True enough, but I fear the word may spread, and that we will end up a large party. No doubt it will reach the ears of his elder brother."

Henry was right, within a few days, several people – including Mr. Thomas Wright – had expressed their wish to join them.


	4. Cotswold Hills and Great Witcombe

Thank you Asline Nicole, I'm glad that you like it so far, and I agree I think Northanger Abbey is often overlooked in fanfiction. Here's already the next chapter, it's quite long. I've already written parts of the following chapters as well, but I just need to organise them and fill the gaps before I can continue.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Cotswold Hills and Great Witcombe**

The party to Cotswold Hills gradually grew bigger and, on the day, there were no less than nine of them. All of the Wrights except for the parents were there, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were about Mr. Tilney's age or slightly older, they lived in a nearby village, and were generally very amiable. Catherine had never met them or the Misses Wrights before, and the introduction took place outside the parish before the merry party decided to start their walk. It was mid-January, the sun was shining, and the sky clear. It was cold as is usual for January in England, but not bitingly so. Catherine felt supremely happy as she walked, holding Henry's arm.

Thomas Wright complained about Mr. and Mrs. Harrison's presence behind their backs; he felt their presence was not welcome, that they were a large enough party as it was, and that they had invited themselves. Mr. Tilney was sorely tempted to point out that Mr. Thomas Wright's presence was not welcome either, but he bit back the retort because he did not wish to offend his good friend James.

Catherine was delighted to finally meet the Miss Wrights. She had been at Woodston for five weeks now and had not yet been introduced to them. Of course, settling in as mistress of her household had been a learning experience which had taken up a considerable amount of her time. And now that they were to finally spend some time with each other, Catherine was very eager to become closely acquainted with the sisters that James spoke so affectionally of.

Miss Susan Wright was twenty years old, she had a fine complexion, a rather pretty face and friendly though slightly reserved manners. Her reserve and her serious demeanour made Catherine forget that she was only two years older than herself. Miss Wright inquired to Catherine about Eleanor, and Catherine was not surprised that two such earnest and serious young women had been good friends although they had met but a handful of times when Eleanor had visited her brother in Woodston.

Miss Margaret was eighteen, and even though that made her Catherine's equal in age, she did not behave thusly. Her extraordinary shyness made her appear much more infantile than she was. She was not plain, but she was no great beauty either. Her features were delicate, but unrefined. Catherine could not make out her character because Margaret hardly spoke three words to her and blushed profusely when anyone but her siblings addressed her. And yet, through occasional glimpses into her character throughout the day, Catherine realised there was a little something in Margaret that reminded her of her own younger sister Harriet. The thought caused a small pang in her heart and she thought she would soon ask Henry whether they may invite some of her siblings to visit them in Woodston. Perhaps not too soon, her siblings could be quite a handful even if invited one by one, and she still wished to keep her husband jealously to herself as best she could for a little while longer.

The party soon reached the hills. Mr. Harrison and Mr. Andrew were walking ahead, followed by Henry, Catherine, and Susan Wright, who were engaged in friendly conversation. Thomas was following them, looking morose. James saw this and could not help but delight in his elder brother's vexation. He thought Thomas could do with being ignored a little. James was walking between Mrs. Harrison and his sister Margaret. Margaret hardly said a word, so the conversation was mostly between him and Mrs. Harrison.

"Until which point are we walking?" asked Susan.

"We left in good time, I think we should be able to reach Great Witcombe at a leisurely pace," replied Henry.

"Is there anything to see in Great Witcombe?" asked Catherine, already fancying that there might be some mysterious haunted chapel there.

"I'm afraid there is nothing terribly exciting – only the remains of a Roman villa, and a small church," Henry could not stop the corner of his lips from twitching into a teasing smile as he looked towards his wife and guessed what she was hoping for.

"Well, we could always make up a story," suggested Catherine, "My imagination will supply what the local legends of Great Witcombe lack."

"I'm sure it will," laughed Henry while Susan looked a bit shocked at Catherine's playfulness.

"Mrs. Tilney, you wish to make up a story about Great Witcombe?" Her tone of voice indicated that she could not fathom the point of such an idea.

"It would be great fun," said Catherine, smiling at Miss Wright, while Henry nodded in agreement.

Miss Wright smiled back, "You two have found each other very well. I cannot imagine a serious word ever being spoken amongst the two of you, with such dispositions as to elevate one another's childish silliness." Her words were spoken with sincere affection and without intent to wound.

Henry and Catherine could not help laughing at this depiction of themselves.

"You judge us too harshly, Madam," said Henry but it was obvious he was not offended.

Miss Wright's smile drooped a little though and her eyes got an inscrutable look in them. Try as she might, Catherine could not decipher it, but she did not let this mull long in her head. In fact, she did not have the luxury of time to think on it, as Mr. Thomas' patience had worn thin and he now decided to intrude. He would have wished to place himself between Mrs. Tilney and her husband, but he could not because they were walking arm in arm. He therefore inserted himself between his sister and Mrs. Tilney.

Miss Wright shot him a warning look, one a mother might use to reprimand a small child or to advise him to behave.

"Mrs. Tilney, what did you think of Gloucester?" asked Thomas in a booming voice.

"Oh, it was very nice. A lovely town–"

"Did you happen to see the great house next to the inn on Bristol Road?" Thomas interrupted.

"I do not recall that we did," Catherine furrowed her brow in wonder at this strange line of questioning.

"I mention it because this house belongs to my family, it is part of my inheritance as the first son," Thomas puffed out his chest a little while his sister shot him a disapproving look.

Catherine did not know what to reply to this and simply nodded her head politely. Then, she shot a questioning look at her husband only to notice that his jaw was clenched and his features showed his annoyance.

Miss Wright attempted conversation with her brother, in the hopes that he would stop embarrassing himself and thereby also his family. Catherine took the opportunity of Mr. Wright being distracted to lean towards Henry and whisper, "I can see that you are annoyed."

"Of course I am," he bit back, "I never spent long enough time in his company before to realise just how annoying he is. Always interrupting with only the daftest things to say."

"Why not just amuse yourself with his foibles as you usually do?"

Henry sighed a little and whispered back, "Perhaps I could bear his half-wittedness better if he did not make you uncomfortable and me angry. His constantly wandering eyes are particularly infuriating."

"I think we could try to get rid of him," said Catherine, who at present did not wish to dwell on feelings but preferred to take the practical route of solving the problem.

"What do you propose we do?"

"Let us scare him with a good ghost story. He claims not to be scared easily but I have learnt not to accept people's self-evaluations as facts. Did we not just say how fun it would be to fabricate a local legend?"

Henry smiled at this and said, "Lead the way."

This was said just in time as Thomas turned his attention back to them.

"What are you two whispering so conspiratorially about?" he queried, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Oh, we were debating whether to tell a story we recently read in a book we purchased on local legends. It is very interesting but perhaps too dreadful for your ears. Nay, it is best we do not speak of it in company." Catherine had never been a good liar, but she had improved by watching Henry's example when he teased.

It worked. Thomas protested that he was very brave and could hear any old, silly legend.

"Miss Wright, would you like to hear it too?" asked Henry, who could not suppress a smile.

"I should like that very much," replied Miss Wright with a smile of her own.

"Well then, my dear Catherine, you have our fullest attention," said Henry gallantly.

Catherine cleared her throat and tried to imitate Henry's solemn tone of voice when he had made up that story about Matilda. This inspired her.

"A long time ago, the wealthy daughter of a local landowner fell in love with the footman's son. He loved her back but knew he could not propose because her father would never give his consent to such a match. They used to meet in secret in Cotswold Hills, close to here, because they could not be seen together in public. Whenever they saw each other outside of these hills, they had to ignore each other, and just sometimes discreetly managed to exchange notes with romantic poems and sonnets. One day, as they met in the hills, Matilda burst into tears and told George…" Catherine paused and looked briefly at her husband and he understood the hint and picked up where she had left off,

"She told him her parents wanted her to marry a wealthy young man named Carl. Carl was a very recent acquaintance, and George had not worried about him before hearing these news. It seemed Carl was quite taken with Matilda and their marriage would be advantageous for both families. Soon they were engaged despite Matilda's reservations. One day, Carl caught Matilda with George in these woods…" Henry trailed off and Catherine continued,

"In a fit of rage, Carl attacked them, and in the struggle against George, he lost his life. It had not been Matilda or George's intention to harm him and as he lay lifeless… they decided to hide his body in these woods and not to tell a soul what had happened. The guilt ate at them, and they soon broke off all contact to each other. But they were not just haunted by their guilt… people started reporting strange, dreadful occurrences in Cotswold Hills…"

Thomas was staring at Catherine wide-eyed, while Susan's face wore an incredulous small smile. Catherine herself shivered at the story she was telling.

Henry's solemn voice took over the narrative, "Carl's ghost is seeking his revenge in these hills… every time he sees a young man and a young woman here, he thinks it is George and Matilda and he follows them wherever they go… and when they least expect it…"

"What then?" asked Thomas in a slightly higher pitched voice before clearing his throat.

"Let's just say, few make it out alive. Carl's ghost wants to avenge his death by murdering his killer, George. For a man to walk safely in Cotswold Hills, he must walk at a distance of all womenfolk, lest he be mistaken for George." replied Henry.

"That is just ridiculous," said Thomas, but he hurried his step to catch up with his brother Andrew and Mr. Harrison.

Catherine and Henry exchanged mischievous glances.

Susan smiled and said, "How could a ghost harm anyone? I thought folklore dictated that they do not have a body."

"Miss Wright, if you start applying rationality to our story, I am afraid you will make it very dull," chastised Henry with a gently mocking smile.

They laughed a little and then Mr. Harrison turned around and announced that they had almost reached Great Witcombe.

They had reached a breathtakingly beautiful clearing. The grass was a vibrant green, and there was a small lake. The sunlight streaming through the neighbouring trees reflected off the surface of the water and bathed the clearing in a small glow. Catherine admired the scenery before her, feeling elated.

"It's a shame we have not had much snow this year," murmured Henry in her ear, "You should see it when it has snowed – the light is reflected even more."

"It is beautiful," whispered Catherine, "I think our gothic horror story does not fit this place at all. It would have been more credible if we'd imagined a fairy tale instead."

"We can imagine one of those as well, though of course we cannot use Mrs. Radcliffe's works as inspiration for that," he said with a smile.

They walked on to Great Witcombe. The ruins of the Roman Villa were slightly disappointing to Catherine. It reminded her of the time she had built her own expectations of Northanger Abbey up and had then been disappointed by how normal and non-threatening the abbey really was.

"We could go to Birdlip and then all the way to Brimpsfield," suggested Mr. Harrison.

"I'd rather we turn back," Thomas Wright was a little squeamish at the thought of staying even longer in the hills.

Margaret quietly spoke up to say she was feeling a bit tired.

And so the party turned to walk back to Woodston.


	5. Gathering at Longfield Hall

Thank you mkjs, I'm glad you're enjoying the story :)

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Gathering at Longfield Hall**

Catherine felt very happy and contented with her life in Woodston. Her mind was improving daily since she had left Fullerton, through her travels, exposure to a more varied society, extensive reading, and spirited debates with her husband. She enjoyed helping her husband with his parish, tending to the garden, making new acquaintances and maintaining old ones. Taking care of the household, thankfully, did not require much effort or investment of time on her part, as Mr. Tilney's living allowed him to keep three servants. Catherine was a kind mistress and the servants were unobtrusive and diligent.

Often, Catherine was surprised to find that there never seemed to be enough hours in the day for everything she had planned to do. She would be about to head out to go horseriding through the countryside when Miss Susan and Miss Margaret arrived to call on her, she would open a book only to remember she still had to reply to Eleanor's last letter, she would head to the neighbouring market town of Abbeydale for a quick shop only to run into Mrs. Jones, who was an enthusiastic conversationalist.

"How did you like Gloucester?" asked Mrs. Jones with a wide smile. Mrs. Jones was a young woman, quite beautiful, with a fair complexion, deep blue eyes, cascading blonde hair, and a light figure.

"It was great, I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for recommending it, you were right, it is a very fine city."

"I am glad to hear you enjoyed it so much. Perhaps if you have time soon, you would like to accompany me to Cheltenham? It is further away but there are an even greater array of shops to visit."

Catherine accepted Mrs. Jones' offer, she was always happy to discover a new place, but she was also inwardly wondering when she would find the time. She had thought about learning to draw ever since her conversation with Henry on the picturesque all these months ago, but she realised that such a plan must necessarily be delayed further.

That evening, Henry looked up from his book to watch Catherine enter the drawing-room and sink in an armchair opposite him, her body limp from pure exhaustion, but with a small smile on her face.

"Catherine, dearest," he said with an amused smile, "You appear quite tired. Did you run into Carl's ghost and have to run for you life?"

Catherine let out a weak chuckle as she rubbed her eyes.

"It seems every day there is something new happening here. Am I really in Woodston or am I still in London? 'Tis a fine rhythm for a fortnight, but how shall I endure it for months on end? Bath is almost like Fullerton in comparison to this."

Henry chuckled, "It is a small town, but everything and everyone is new to you here. Once you are well-settled, I daresay you will be eager to go travelling once again. Although–" he paused here.

"What?" asked Catherine, cracking one eye open to watch her husband.

"The Wrights have invited us to a big gathering in Longfield Hall this Friday," said Henry in an apologetic tone.

Catherine groaned and took a cushion she had recently knitted – it had taken forever because she was always being interrupted with so many other things to do – and shoved it inelegantly on her face.

"I shall be sick on Friday. Apologise to the Wrights for me," came her muffled reply.

Henry laughed, "You have a gift for clairvoyance, my dear. You already know you shall be sick on Friday!" he joked. Catherine laughed and threw the cushion at him, which he easily caught.

"However," he continued, "I'm afraid the Wrights _pater_ and _mater_ are very desirous to meet you. They were sorry they could not come with us to Cotswold Hills, they say they are too old for such long walks, but they are very impatient to make your acquaintance at last."

"Fine," Catherine huffed theatrically with the sole purpose of amusing her husband, "But you will need to carry me home."

"Like Count Morano trying to carry Emily out of the castle of Udolpho?"

"No," Catherine wrinkled her nose slightly, "Of course not. I do not wish to be abducted." And then she saw his expression and threw her hands up in the air, "Oh you are teasing me again!" And she broke into peals of laughter which Henry also joined in.

"You are my Valancourt," Catherine told him with an affectionate smile.

And so on Friday, Mr. and Mrs. Tilney set off to go to Longfield Hall. Catherine was wearing her best muslin dress – which of course had elicited a certain amount of teasing on both sides, what with Henry being such an expert on muslin. Mr. and Mrs. Wright were very amiable, attentive, and eager to please their guests. They were delighted to make Mrs. Tilney's acquaintance and a few minutes worth of conversation were enough to impress them with the belief that Mrs. Tilney was a very good sort of woman. When Mrs. Tilney was out of earshot, as she was now talking with their daughter Susan as Margaret listened on, they praised Mr. Tilney on his choice of bride.

Catherine had never been at such a large gathering since her marriage, but her intimidation at still being the object of a few curious glances was softened by her recognising numerous familiar faces. Some people she had only ever seen at the Sunday services held by her husband, several others she knew a bit more. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were there, as well as Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones introduced Catherine to her husband, Colonel Jones, who had just returned from deployment. Colonel Jones was much older than his wife, he was a tall, imposing man with a still handsome face and black hair with a few grey strands. He had a deep baritone voice which he used to regale the guests with stories from the army. The colonel looked pleased with the attention he was receiving from several young ladies, Mrs. Tilney and the Miss Wrights were listening with rapt attention, his own wife listening politely as well but she was less enthusiastic as she had heard these stories before. Thomas Wright sidled up to them and placed himself between Catherine and Susan. Catherine shifted slightly uncomfortably but no one seemed to notice. Mrs. Jones was smiling brightly, and Colonel Jones kept on talking.

Thomas Wright leaned towards Catherine and started pestering her with odd questions, which she answered as shortly as politeness allowed, for she preferred to listen to the colonel. Mrs. Jones must have remarked her friend's uneasiness because after some time, she thanked her husband for entertaining them and ventured how nice it would be to have some music now. Catherine felt grateful for this intervention, and was inwardly amused by Mrs. Jones' use of the word "nice". She looked across the room at Henry who was deep in conversation with his friend James and thought fondly of his finding fault in incorrectness of language. After Mrs. Jones' suggestion, Susan Wright was quietly bid to play by her sister Margaret and obligingly went to the pianoforte as Catherine sat by her to turn the music sheets. Miss Wright's performance was very pleasing and Catherine voiced her admiration sincerely, as Miss Wright blushed slightly under the praise. This allowed her a brief reprieve from Thomas Wright's attentions. However, he quickly shook off Mrs. Jones' attempts to keep him in their conversation and walked up to this sister and Mrs. Tilney.

"Susan," he said, "Will you not play a Scottish air instead? That way Mrs. Tilney and I could dance a reel."

"Oh no!" cried Catherine, "Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Wright, but I assure you I have not the least intention of dancing."

"Why ever not?"

"I am quite tired this evening, and had much rather sit by Miss Wright as she plays."

Henry caught a glimpse of Thomas Wright talking to his wife as she sat next to Miss Wright. His until now high spirits soured immediately and James noticed his friend's change in mood and demeanour.

"Henry, what is it?" he asked, bewildered.

Henry gritted his teeth before replying, "James, I do not wish to cause offense, but you must tell your brother to start behaving himself."

James was exceedingly surprised by this, "What makes you think he would listen to me?"

This reminded Henry of the time he had uttered similar words to Miss Morland when she had asked him to rein in his brother Frederick.

"What is it with first sons and their insupportable character," he muttered.

James laughed, "Probably because they have been told their whole lives how great they are and how much they shall inherit."

"Regardless of the reasons, your older brother needs to be taken down a peg. His attentions to a married woman are utterly unacceptable. He is making Catherine very uncomfortable."

Henry did not wait for James' reply. He strode across the room and placed himself strategically between Thomas and Catherine, with an angry glare directed towards Thomas. Thomas – fool that he was – did not seem to catch the message as he tried to step around Henry, only to be stopped as Henry held out his arm. James could see an animated discussion ensue, until Thomas finally retreated back to Mrs. Jones, who simpered at him.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Catherine listened with admiration to a spirited debate between her husband and Miss Wright, she managed to have more conversation with Margaret than she previously thought possible, and she made new acquaintances.


	6. Life is sometimes like a Gothic novel

Ihatfield2013, thank you for your review, I couldn't help laughing as I read it, and it inspired me to add a sentence to this chapter - I'm sure you can guess which one. I'm afraid I can't write much more on the subject if I want to keep this story at a T-rating haha.

Some of the things in this chapter are taken from the 2007 film rather than the book (by the way, Felicity Jones and JJ Feild are amazing as Catherine and Henry, I highly recommend watching it).

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Life is sometimes like a Gothic novel**

Two weeks after the gathering at Longfield Hall, Henry Tilney received a letter that surprised him greatly. It was addressed to _Reverend Tilney_ and went thus,

 _Abbeydale, 12_ _th_ _of February 1799_

 _Dear Sir,_

 _I have long debated sending you this letter and making the following request of you. There is something that has been weighing on my conscience lately and I would be very grateful if you would come to Abbeydale to hear it. I do not trust Reverend Wilson's discretion and would rather be absolved by you if you would agree. I shall be at my home every morning for a week, please come at your earliest convenience. I know you are under no obligation to serve those who are not – strictly speaking – your parishioners, but my distress makes me desperate, and I fear I may do something foolish soon – such as talk to Reverend Wilson – if I do not alleviate my conscience._

 _With much gratitude,_

 _Mrs. Jones_

Henry did not know what to think of it, but he readily agreed to come visit Mrs. Jones. He could not help wondering why Mrs. Jones did not trust Reverend Wilson. Reverend Wilson was a good friend of the colonel, what could she object to a friend of her husband's? The very next morning, he went to Abbeydale and understood perfectly why Mrs. Jones would not speak with Reverend Wilson on the subject. Mrs. Jones broke down in tears as she confessed to infidelity, though she would not disclose the name of her lover. Henry consoled her as best he could, perhaps not exactly in line with the religious teaching he had received, but in a more humane way. Instead of chastising her, he looked at her with pity, she was obviously distraught. Throughout the day, he found it difficult to concentrate on his work as he worried about the implications of Mrs. Jones' confession.

When Henry returned home in the evening, Catherine noticed that he looked preoccupied. He was deep in thought; his forehead was creased with worry.

"What is it, Henry?" she asked solicitously.

He looked up, surprised at being addressed.

"What are you concerned about?" Catherine asked gently.

"Oh, I–" Henry hesitated, "I wish I could tell you, Catherine, I really do, but it's… it's got to do with my work and I'm not allowed to repeat the confessions of my parishioners to anyone – not even my wife. I don't doubt your discretion, it's just not allowed. My parishioners need to be able to trust me on this."

"Oh," said Catherine as understanding dawned on her, "Oh, I understand. Of course, you cannot repeat confessions. I wish I could unburden you somehow, but if you're not allowed to tell me, I'm afraid I'm not much help. Perhaps I can distract you with a good novel?"

"Oh, no, not a novel. I just– Life _really_ is sometimes like a Gothic novel, even in places like Woodston." He was thinking of heartbreaks and betrayals.

"You don't mean–" Catherine's mind had wandered to murders and abductions.

"Nothing so dreadful," he hurried to reassure her, "But I have already said too much. I just meant that I would rather we did not read a novel tonight."

And so they retired to bed early and Catherine decided to distract Henry from his worries in an entirely different way.

In the following days, Henry tried to put Mrs. Jones' confession out of his mind, but it proved quite difficult as Catherine innocently broached the subject. She had just returned from Abbeydale where, on an accidental meeting, Mrs. Jones had coldly said that their outing to Cheltenham had to be postponed indefinitely.

"I should have thought I became a better judge of character, but now I must admit that my improvement in that regard was not so great."

"What makes you say so?" asked Henry curiously.

Catherine sighed, "I thought Mrs. Jones was genuinely fond of me. She always appeared eager to increase our acquaintance and said how delighted she was to have found another young lady by way of a friend. I felt gratified by her attentions."

"What has changed?"

"Since the gathering at Longfield Hall, her manners are much more abrupt, and she occasionally ignores me when she is not avoiding me."

"That is singular indeed– oh." Understanding dawned on Henry and he frowned.

"What is it? Do you know why she is acting thusly?"

"I have some suspicions but I cannot say them," said Henry, looking displeased.

Henry did not believe in ostracizing Mrs. Jones, nor would he ever presume to tell Catherine who she could and could not see, but he was inwardly glad that Catherine would be seeing less of Mrs. Jones. If his suspicions were correct, Mrs. Jones' lover was Thomas Wright. It would explain why Thomas mysteriously took the chaise to leave Woodston when the colonel was away on deployment, and it would also explain Mrs. Jones' recent froideur towards Catherine. Henry could now account for it – surely Mrs. Jones had been jealous of Thomas' attentions to Catherine at the gathering at Longfield Hall. Henry feared that Mrs. Jones' jealousy could not be good for Catherine. However, another fear overshadowed this one. If Mr. Thomas Wright was such a scoundrel, a rake, would he stop at anything? For Catherine's safety, Henry thought it would be best if she avoided the eldest Wright son altogether.

"Catherine," he said gently, "If Mrs. Jones treats you coldly, you do not have to make an effort to remain her friend. And on a similar subject, if Mr. Thomas Wright makes you uncomfortable, you are under no obligations to be polite to him. Feel free to be as rude as you want if it helps you avoid his company. In fact, if he calls here again on his own when I am absent, you have every right to refuse to invite him in. Polite society be damned."

Catherine looked at him with wide eyes and nodded slowly.


	7. Tears

Ihatfield2013: Thank you, I'm really glad you love this story. They're two of my favourite Austen characters too (along with Elizabeth Bennet). By the way, I think I will include a bit more suggestive/risqué things in the story later on, but very, very tame in order to comply with the guidelines of the site. But Catherine and Henry are passionately in love, it must show somehow in the story so I will write more :)

Asline Nicole: I confess I've watched the film a lot recently, every time I need a bit of inspiration to write :) It's true that Catherine's imagination sometimes leads her astray, but her instinct might (or might not) guide her to the right explanation... ;)

A sad chapter for now, but I promise there will be some fun, light-hearted ones too (at some point) :)

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Tears**

Henry was at his parish, preparing sermons for the following Sunday, when Mrs. Jones burst in, her hair dishevelled and her eyes wild. Her appearance was far from her usual impeccable outfits, her hat was askew, her ribbon untied. It looked like she had dressed herself hastily, without any care. She fretted about what she wanted to say.

"Reverend Tilney, I must tell you something. I must."

Henry was taken aback but politely offered her a seat. She waved her hand, dismissing it.

"What I was telling you about the other day – it's… it's Mr. Thomas Wright!" she wailed.

"I surmised as much," replied Henry.

Mrs. Jones' eyes widened comically, "You knew? How did you know? But then if you knew why didn't you…"

"Why didn't I what?"

"Why aren't you keeping an eye on your wife? She is encouraging him! You should forbid her from seeing him."

"It is not your place to tell me what my wife should or should not be doing," replied Henry coldly.

"You don't understand! Thomas loves _me_. We love each other. Your wife–"

"–is not encouraging him in the slightest!" thundered Henry.

"I just saw him!" Mrs. Jones was near hysterics now, "I usually do not see him when my husband is home, but I _had_ to see him, and afterwards he told me… he told me… _'Mary, you are boring me'_ … and then he said…"

Mrs. Jones brought her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably.

Henry hesitantly held out his handkerchief but she ignored it.

"I just _know_ it's because of _her_ ," spat Mrs. Jones, before being overtaken by a fit of hiccups.

"It is not because of Mrs. Tilney," replied Henry with all the composure he could muster, "It is because Mr. Wright is a rake who delights in the challenge, in the pursuit, and once his goal is achieved, his conquest complete, loses interest. He does not respect other people's vows, in fact, this might add to the allure, to the challenge." He could not help thinking of his elder brother Frederick and his pursuit of Isabella Thorpe.

Mrs. Jones' hiccups had stilled, her hands had come down to her sides, gripping the material of her dress between her fingers as if for dear life. She stared at him with wide eyes.

"No," she whispered. Henry was not sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself, but regardless, it did not sound convincing.

"Mrs. Jones," he said with a softer tone, "You believed him to be sincerely in love with you, and you continued to see him despite being wracked by feelings of guilt. Now that it seems all has come at an end between you, perhaps you will consider telling your husband when you have recuperated and healed from your heartbreak and disappointment."

Mrs. Jones' eyes were as wide as saucers.

"I cannot. He will despise me, my reputation will be ruined, I will be called a loose woman, he will request a parliamentary divorce, and I shall be scorned by society, friendless, poor and resourceless…"

"Let's not be so hasty. You already know the Church's position on your actions, but you do not know your husband's – he may forgive you."

"He will not," she wailed, "No respectable man would! He will partake in my shame, he will be ridiculed because of me. We have been married but three years and already I have failed him; he does not deserve the pain I am inflicting upon–" she was now weeping too heavily for words.

Henry could not do much for her comfort and so waited patiently for her to compose herself.

Finally, she drew in a deep breath and dabbed her eyes with her sleeves.

"I thank you, Reverend," she said in a hoarse voice. She turned to leave. At the door, she turned her head back slightly and said in a timid voice, "My apologies for the unjust accusations I levelled against your wife. I hope Mrs. Tilney will forgive me for my recent coldness. I was not myself." And with those parting words, she left the parish.

Henry had just sat back down at his desk, when there was a knock at the door. He wondered if Mrs. Jones had returned because she had more to say and had suddenly remembered that knocking was more polite than barging in.

"Enter," he said with a little apprehension.

His spirits were very differently affected when Catherine opened the door. He brightened up immediately.

"Catherine," he said with a smile.

"Henry," she smiled back, his smile was so contagious she felt it could brighten her darkest moods, "I just saw Mrs. Jones leave but I managed to hide behind the hedge before she could see me."

Despite the oddity and awkwardness of the situation, Henry was amused.

"Hiding behind a hedge? A Gothic heroine _and_ a spy."

Catherine let out a small chuckle, "Hardly a spy, I have no idea what she up to, although she did look a bit out of sorts. Her dress was haphazard and her eyes red." There was pity and compassion in her voice, "But I doubt she would have wanted any consolation from me anyway and I am not in the mood for further coldness from her part."

It occurred to Henry that the situation might be liable to misinterpretation, but he could not see anything in Catherine's demeanour that hinted at suspicion – she trusted him wholeheartedly. His heart warmed at the thought.

He considered telling her that Mrs. Jones might no longer behave standoffishly as she had been wont to do lately, but he could not do so without revealing or exposing some of the confession Mrs. Jones had made. Furthermore, he was not sure that Mrs. Jones' apology meant she would genuinely amend her behaviour towards Catherine. Instead, he resolved on addressing the reason for Catherine's presence.

"What do you want, Catherine?" he asked with a gentle voice.

Catherine grew serious and sat down with her hands in her lap and her head bowed down. She took a deep breath, and her voice trembled as she spoke, "I've just been to see Mrs. Hayes. She grows more ill and weaker every day. She has asked me to come again tomorrow and if she is yet worse, she will ask you to come and administer…"

Catherine trailed off and Henry gently clasped her hands in his.

A clergyman's job was not always easy, and a parson's wife usually also experienced her fair share of sitting at sick beds. Henry had often wondered whether he would be able to bear it were he not allowed to desert his parish several weeks per year, which gave him time to recuperate.

"I am sure your presence brought her comfort, dearest," Henry's voice grew quieter as he gently wiped a tear that was escaping from the corner of her eye.

"I hope so," her voice was so quiet Henry had to strain to hear her, "Her daughter is very distraught. She is only seven and does not understand… Mrs. Hayes does not want her in the room to avoid distressing her with her suffering but…"

Henry could not find appropriate comforting words to this, so he just engulfed her in his arms and let her sob on his shoulder. Silent tears started running down his cheeks.


	8. Previous love

Two chapters at once. Chapter 9 will be up right after.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Previous love**

When Catherine told her friend Miss Wright about Mrs. Hayes, Miss Wright offered to come along with her. The sick lady was glad for Miss Wright's presence, she knew her a little, and was glad for more company.

"I do not wish to spend my last days wallowing in self-pity," she said, "But I also do not want dearest Anne to see me like this, she is too young and I am a frightening sight."

Between the two of them, they persuaded her to let little Anne inside her room, albeit for a brief visit. Anne was overjoyed to see her mother and did not question her frail and pale appearance as she had figured out that this might lead her to lose the privilege of seeing her. Mrs. Hayes was feeling better than the previous day, but her physician was still not optimistic regarding the time she had left. When Reverend Tilney arrived, Catherine and Miss Wright left him alone with the patient, and waited for him in the drawing room. Finally, he emerged, looking downcast. He looked at them both, "Thank you for your support and companionship to Mrs. Hayes during these trying times."

"Of course," said Miss Wright, "What will happen to little Anne? Mrs. Hayes is a widow."

"Mrs. Hayes' sister and her husband will take her in," replied Henry.

"Is recovery completely beyond hope?" asked Catherine with a small voice.

"I do not know. Her physician has given her but a few days, and she seems to have accepted it, but she assured me that she felt stronger than yesterday."

"Yes, so she told us," replied Miss Wright pensively, "We must guard ourselves from optimism though, it will only make the blow harder when it comes. Anne is quite perceptive, I think she understands – we must not show her any hope, for it might get crushed."

Henry and Catherine nodded at her words.

"You are right, Miss Wright," said Henry, who had not meant it as a joke at all, but the words sounded odd and Miss Wright flinched.

"Sorry, I had not meant – surely you must know I did not mean to –" he stopped talking and there was an awkward silence.

"Should we go?" said Catherine and they departed from Mrs. Hayes' home.

Later that day, Catherine was trying to distract herself from thoughts of Mrs. Hayes and her illness. Being a parson's wife meant she had to get used to seeing the plight of others, sickness, poverty, misery, orphaned children. Being a clergyman's daughter, she had not been completely oblivious to his duties, but she had had a very sheltered upbringing. Now, she was maturing quickly through her experiences at Woodston's parish.

In the evening, she decided to broach a subject that she had been wondering about for some time. They had just risen from dinner, when she hesitantly asked, "Were you ever partial for Miss Susan Wright?"

Henry opened his mouth and closed it again, mulling his answer over in his head. He was always glad to see that Catherine's mind and perception had made great improvements, but he could not welcome this sudden discernment.

"A little," he confessed, "Nothing remotely similar to what I feel for you though – what I feel for you greatly eclipses what I felt for her. She is an amiable friend, and I acknowledge that I found her well-read and rather pretty but… Our tempers are very different. She usually felt embarrassed by my teasing. I did not like the way her eyes were judging me when I jested; it was clear to me she wished me to be serious. In large gatherings, she sometimes avoided my company."

Now it was the turn of Catherine's jaw to hang open before a small smile by her husband made her snap back to her senses.

"You are very agreeable and lively, people crave your company."

" _You_ crave my company," corrected Henry, "Some people think I go too far when I jest. Perhaps some even view me as occasionally ridiculous."

Catherine threw her hands up in the air, "If Susan Wright thinks that, then she is a fool! And to think I thought so highly of her intelligence!"

Henry smiled a little, "Dearest, you must make allowances for differences of temper and dispositions. Miss Wright liked my friendliness and disapproved of my pleasantry. Now that I no longer tease her as much, she can bear it more easily. Still, she infinitely prefers my sermons to my jokes. And I could not bear to tie myself to someone who would turn accusatory eyes towards me every time I said something not quite appropriate, be it an admission to traditionally feminine activities such as reading novels or a joke that provoked those who took it seriously."

Catherine let out a sigh, "I understand now that there was never any risk. Henry Tilney would not be Henry Tilney if he had married someone who crushed his lively spirit."

Henry laughed a little, "And a Henry Tilney who met a delightfully candid Miss Morland could only become even more playful."

Catherine blushed a little and asked, "Are you and Miss Wright still good friends?"

"We are. I think I can safely say that she finds my behaviour easier to bear when I am her friend than if I happened to be anything more. She could never tolerate me as her husband. I make it all sound so dreadful, don't I? Truly, we do get along quite well most of the time; she is a good friend, always has a wise counsel or a kind word. 'Tis not too often that we disagree on when a joke is going too far, but when we do, I find it quite tiring and I am uncompromising on the subject."

"As you should be," said Catherine, wrapping her arms around him, "You should have free rein to be yourself and express yourself as you wish."

"I am glad you think so," replied Henry while returning her embrace, "And the same can be applied to you. We did not marry to limit ourselves, we married to grow together as we wish. Overly polite and proper society with their follies of conformity be damned. And so what if I occasionally make fun of what is boring by being absurd – I think I am rather tame in my mockery, a quip every now and then does not deserve such condemnation as a disapproving glare."

"I don't think I've ever glared at you disapprovingly," mused Catherine thoughtfully.

"You have not – yet," replied Henry with a smile, "Although you did call me insufferable once, but your acting skills are not so good, your eyes and actions told a different story."

Catherine smiled at the memory and repeated her actions – she hugged him tighter.


	9. Bad news and good news

This chapter is quite long, so I decided to divide it up into 3 parts. But I was wondering, do you think the story would flow well together if I removed the subheadings (Part 1,2,3)? And if not, what could I add to make the parts flow together better? I want this story to read like a book, if possible.

I changed the rating to M due to Part 3, but I think it's still pretty tame, I didn't go into details.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Bad news and good news**

 **Part 1**

The knowledge that Miss Wright and Henry had once felt some admiration for each other did not distress Catherine. She felt secure in Henry's affections, certain that whatever regard had once been there was extinguished on both sides, and she remained as fond of Miss Wright as before. One day when Miss Wright came to call on her and they sat in the drawing-room, Catherine even brought up the subject with some amusement. Miss Wright was first embarrassed, but quickly recovered, relieved that she had not lost Catherine's affection to jealousy over some misplaced admiration long past. After some time, Miss Wright noticed that Catherine kept glancing towards the door.

"Are you expecting someone, Mrs. Tilney?"

Catherine had already told Miss Wright that she could call her Catherine, but Miss Wright was quite a formal creature.

"Henry had to go to Painswick today but he should have returned by now," replied Catherine with a slightly worried voice, "I wonder what is keeping him."

"I am sure he should be there very soon," reassured her Miss Wright, "Regrettably, I have to take my leave, I wish to return to Longfield Hall before the rain starts."

From the drawing-room, they could clearly see the grey skies above the garden. Miss Wright tried to reassure her still-nervous friend with soothing parting words.

When the thunder started, Catherine stopped fidgeting and resolved to go look for Henry. She went to the stables, took the gig and headed in the direction of Painswick. The rain was pouring heavily but she paid it no heed. She was straining to see anything through the downpour and soon she was drenched. When she reached the woods, the trees offered a little bit of cover from the rain. Eventually, the rain stopped altogether. She continued onwards until she suddenly saw a white horse without a rider heading towards her. She gasped when she recognised Henry's horse. She stopped the gig, jumped down and walked over to the horse, trying to calm it. It had obviously been distressed by the thunder but was calming down quickly now that the worst of the weather was over. She attached Henry's horse to the back of the gig so that it would follow and continued in the direction the horse had come from. Not long after, she spotted a neckcloth she recognised among some trees. Once again, she was on her feet and out of the gig in an instant. She picked up the cloth and shoved it inside a pocket on her dress.

"Henry? Henry?" she shouted until her throat started to hurt. Finally, when she reached a low tree, she received a reply.

"Catherine!"

Her Henry was sitting below the tree, his back resting against the trunk. He looked even worse than she did. While she was drenched and her boots and the hem of her dress were muddy, he was not just drenched, but also covered in mud and grime, and his face was pale.

Catherine felt relief wash through her at the sight of him, apparently alive and she hoped relatively unharmed. She kneeled close to him with no thoughts for her dress.

"Are you alright, dearest? What has happened? Are you hurt?"

"I fell off my horse. I think I've sprained my ankle."

"I will help you to the gig."

"I cannot put my weight on my right leg, I will be very heavy," warned Henry.

"That's alright. Remember when you told me the story of Sarah from Chastelton House in Oxfordshire and how she saved her husband during the civil war? Well I'm Catherine and I shall save you from dying of a sprained ankle, left all by yourself in the woods."

Catherine was determined and Henry was too weak to argue.

She helped him stand up and wrapped her arm around his midsection. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned heavily on her as they slowly wobbled out from under the tree. Henry was struggling for composure and a whimper of pain escaped his lips. Catherine's heart ached at the sound and she thought she needed to distract him from the pain.

"Henry, dearest," she asked, "Are you sure you only fell off your horse? Perhaps the ghost of Carl attacked you, or perhaps a vampire?"

Henry let out a small chuckle, "It would add glory and excitement to the story if I had come out alive from a fight against the supernatural, however, I fear I was just clumsy."

It took a while for Henry to hoist himself into the gig with Catherine's help. Once she had helped him sit down, she wiped his hair from his face. He was drenched in rain and sweat.

"Poor baby," she cooed soothingly.

He managed a small smile through his pain, "Have you no fear of wounding my ego, Catherine?"

"I do not think I am wounding your ego – it is not so fragile. I think you like it when I take care of you."

They smiled tenderly at each other and she leaned down to gently kiss his lips.

"And now, home we go," she called cheerfully and she turned to face the front of the gig and took up the reins.

"You're a Gothic heroine, a spy, _and_ a rescuer," teased Henry, whose face was already starting to regain some colour as he sat up straighter.

Catherine grinned at him and set the gig in motion.

 **Part 2**

The apothecary, Mr. Forster, was promptly called and confirmed the sprained ankle. He ordered a long bedrest for his patient.

"I shall be horribly bored if I cannot leave this bed," complained Henry.

"You must rest, Mr. Tilney," said Mr. Forster in a strict and authoritative voice, "Otherwise, it will not heal properly."

"Yes, Henry, what will your wife think of you if you become a cripple?" joked Catherine.

"I'm certain she'd love me just the same," retorted Henry.

"I would also recommend some draughts," continued Mr. Forster who was trying to hide his amusement.

Henry made a face. Catherine laughed and said, "Eleanor has warned me that you are a most difficult patient to tend to. She says you are as sulky when sick as you are good-humoured when healthy."

"Then, Mrs. Tilney, I think I must depend on you to enforce his treatment," said the apothecary and Catherine nodded in agreement for she hoped that the draughts would help relieve Henry's pain.

Suddenly, Catherine felt faint, she leaned back against the wall and would have slid down it had not Mr. Forster caught her.

Henry let out a yelp of pain; he had tried to spring up from his bed only to fall back in agony due to his ankle.

"Catherine?" he asked in a worried voice.

"I'm alright," she tried to reassure him, but she still felt lightheaded.

Mr. Forster helped Catherine sit down on a chair in the corner of the room.

"Has she caught a cold? Has she exerted herself too much in helping me home?" Henry asked, desperately seeking an explanation. The heroine of a Gothic novel who defies storms and ghosts, does not die of a cold.

"I do not think so," said Mr. Forster thoughtfully after briefly examining Catherine and asking some odd questions, "Mrs. Tilney, my apologies for this improper question, but when did you last have your menses?"

"I am not quite sure, maybe two months ago, they are late."

Mr. Forster nodded and said, "I cannot yet say for certain, but I would hazard the guess that you might be expecting."

"Expecting…" repeated Catherine and she exchanged a delighted look with her husband, "Well, if confirmed, that would be great news," she added.

"Indeed," agreed Henry while vigorously nodding his head. He felt excited and jittery and elated at the thought of becoming a father.

"I am glad not to be the bearer only of bad news," said Mr. Forster before giving recommendations to Catherine and taking his leave.

When he had left, Henry said with a smile "Now we really need to come up with a fairy tale to be able to tell the little one. Carl's story is too dark for young ears."

Catherine laughed as she replied, "We'll have plenty of time to come up with a fairy tale, with you being bedbound."

Henry grew serious and asked "How shall I take care of you? You could faint and as you just rightly pointed out I am bedbound."

"We'll have to take care of each other. It's a good thing your sister sent us all those books, that way you will not get bored so quickly. Now we will finally have the time to read them."

She retrieved _The Italian_ from a shelf and sat down next to Henry on the bed with the intention of reading out loud to him.

But he was not so easily deterred from pursuing the conversation, "Catherine, dearest, I understand that you want us to take care of each other, but I really think we could use some outside help in this case, considering that we are both… inconvenienced… at the same time."

Catherine frowned a little, "What do you propose we do? The servants are already very busy with their work, and they need time for themselves as well. I cannot expect them to wait on us day and night until you recover."

Henry's heart warmed at her selflessness.

"You're right, but we could write to our families in the hopes of anyone volunteering to come help us out."

"Oh, you want to invite Eleanor to come stay with us?" asked Catherine with bright eyes.

"Or we could invite one of your siblings – do you not miss them?"

"Oh, yes, I do miss them very much. I had actually planned to ask you about this sometime later…"

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, for one, I decided to be a bit selfish and keep you for myself a little while longer," replied Catherine with a blush. Henry laughed at that, the very idea of Catherine being selfish was ridiculous, and he was very flattered by her admission.

"And," continued Catherine, "my siblings can be quite a handful. But I suppose Sarah – she's seventeen now – would be happy to leave Fullerton even if it is to go to Woodston to take care of an incapacitated brother."

"An incapacitated couple," corrected Henry.

"I am not incapacitated," protested Catherine, "I intend to continue living just as before. I am probably not far along anyway, and I want to remain active throughout."

"You're right, but I would feel more reassured if someone were with you when you're out. Remember what Mr. Forster said about fainting and fatigue. What would happen if you fainted while walking in the street? Or if you fainted while riding your horse?"

"Then I would fall down and get a sprained ankle," teased Catherine.

"Catherine, please," replied Henry seriously, "At least until the fainting is over, it would be safer if someone accompanied you on all your errands."

Catherine thought about this. According to Mr. Forster, the fainting and light-headedness would probably stop within the next month or two. And if Henry so desperately wanted her to go everywhere chaperoned, she could use this to negotiate with him.

"All right, on one condition," she said.

Henry smirked, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife? I usually needn't beg. Which demon is possessing this – may I add wonderful – body?"

Catherine laughed and lightly swatted his arm.

"You _will_ take the draughts Mr. Forster recommended."

Henry groaned but capitulated.

Later that night, he whispered into her ear, "A Gothic heroine, a spy, a rescuer, a nurse, and a mother." This time, the intonation on the words was different. At the last word, there was no teasing, just gentle warmth and affection.

 **Part 3**

Over the next few days, Catherine wrote a letter to her family informing them of Mr. Tilney's horse-riding accident and she took over some of Henry's responsibilities. She had already gained some experience in the work of the parish, so she did out feel overly burdened by this. However, no one except a clergyman could hold Sunday service, funerals, and weddings, so she applied to Reverend Wilson of Abbeydale for these. He was kind, ready to oblige, and therefore accepted to replace Reverend Tilney, as he had done before when Woodston's reverend had been at Bath and at London.

Henry was, except for his ankle, in excellent health. Although it had only been a few days, he already felt discontented with his confinement to the bed. Catherine was often away for parish work and other duties, and he had already finished two of the books his sister had sent. He did his best to remain a good patient though, partly because he knew the maid would scold him if he left his room. So he mostly obeyed the apothecary's orders and rested his ankle. He tried to take comfort in the fact that Mr. Forster had promised that if his ankle had improved when he next came, he would be allowed to walk with crutches. When Catherine was home in the evenings, she pampered him, which he would tease her about, leading to delightful banter that distracted him from his boring, empty days.

One evening, Henry noticed that Catherine used the utmost care when lying down next to him. She lowered herself very gently onto the bed as if any sudden movement might result in him wincing in pain.

"My ankle does not hurt so easily," said Henry, amused.

Catherine turned to face him with an odd expression on her face.

"Truly?"

"Yes," said Henry, who was a bit confused at her question, "It only hurts if I put my weight on it. I can move it about without feeling any pain."

She smiled, "I'm glad to hear it. So–" she trailed off.

"So?" asked Henry, bewildered by her hesitation, "What are you not saying?"

She blushed and brought her hand up to trail a finger along the opening of his nightshirt.

"We need not abstain," she whispered.

Henry could not help laughing at this and he wondered how long she had held back for fear of hurting him. However, his laughter was short-lived, because soon Catherine's lips had descended on his. He opened his mouth with a groan and brought a hand up to cup the back of her head as they deepened the kiss. They broke apart for air, and then Catherine moved herself completely over him, straddling him. Her hair was dishevelled due to the hand he had buried there earlier, her eyes were dark with lust as they looked down at him with adoration, her lips were red and slightly parted as she panted.

"Catherine," Henry whispered in awe at the vision before him. She immediately swooped down to claim his lips again.

During their passionate embrace, Henry thought he would not object to being confined to a bed if Catherine remained there throughout.


	10. Reconciliation

Hi everyone, I wrote this chapter a while ago and I meant to come back to it to write more, but I never had the time or inspiration so here goes one short chapter. I know this story has been on pause for a year, I'm sorry.

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 **Chapter 10: Reconciliation**

Miss Wright was very obliging and more than willing to accompany Catherine on her daily tasks and errands. Occasionally, the younger Miss Wright would also accompany them. They were both in the confidence that Catherine was probably expecting but were asked not to communicate the news. Catherine and Henry did not wish to spread this information before being certain.

The parish work was taking up most of Catherine's, and therefore also Susan Wright's, time. It was rewarding work though; for example they were delighted to see that Mrs. Hayes, whose situation had appeared dire, seemed to be recovering from her illness. An added benefit of the situation was that spending so much time in each other's company allowed the two young women to grow closer together.

One evening, Henry had mentioned how grateful he was that Susan Wright was accompanying Catherine on her errands. Catherine replied that although she had not since had a fainting spell, she did actually feel relieved by her friend's presence, as it also meant sharing the burden of the parish work. Laughing, she added that this was the ideal way to get through Miss Wright's reserved exterior.

"She was a hard one to thaw," chuckled Catherine, "It took a while, but now we finally address each other by our Christian names."

Henry smiled, "I am glad that you are getting along so well."

One day, Catherine was reminded of her erstwhile friend Mrs. Jones, when they happened upon each other in a shop in Abbeydale. Mrs. Jones blushed and looked embarrassed, Catherine attempted a polite smile, and Susan Wright raised a questioning eyebrow. After an awkward silence, and quickly spoken civilities, they parted.

Susan was too polite to ask, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity. Catherine sighed and gave a weak smile, "I am not sure why she behaves thusly. She used to be very friendly, then suddenly appeared to resent me. Henry says he might know the reason, but he did not tell me."

Susan was surprised. She found it difficult to imagine Henry withholding such information from Catherine.

"Why ever not?"

"I'm afraid it's related to his work and that he therefore cannot disclose any particulars."

"Oh." Susan nodded in understanding.

As fate or bad luck would have it, they happened on Mrs. Jones again that same week. This time, after brief civilities, Catherine felt faint and nearly fell, only to be caught by Susan and Mrs. Jones.

"Mrs. Tilney!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones with genuine worry etched onto her face, "Are you alright?"

"I am fine, thank you, Mrs. Jones," replied Catherine with a weak voice. I just need to sit down for a bit."

Susan and Mrs. Jones helped Catherine to the nearest chair.

"Perhaps you should consult a doctor," said Mrs. Jones in a timid voice. She was still feeling ashamed of her treatment of Catherine and knew not how to apologise, but her worry overcame her embarrassment.

Catherine did not want to inform Mrs. Jones of the cause of her fainting, so she merely smiled and nodded.

"Well, I will leave you now, you appear to be in good hands," said Mrs. Jones in a questioning voice. She remained standing where she was, unsure.

"Yes. Thank you. Miss Wright will take good care of me."

Yet Mrs. Jones remained, teetering on the spot.

She opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking. Then, she tried again.

"Mrs. Tilney– I am– I am exceedingly sorry for my behaviour over the past few weeks. I would understand if you could not forgive it. I just wish to apologise."

Catherine felt her apprehension vanish. Mrs. Jones seemed sincere and sheepish.

Catherine opted to speak frankly with Mrs. Jones, while Susan turned her head slightly away to give them a semblance of privacy.

"Mrs. Jones, I was quite taken by surprise by the change in your manners towards me. Did I say or do anything that–"

"Oh no!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "The fault lay entirely with me. Of course you deserve a full explanation, however, I fear I cannot provide it just now. I blamed you for something for which you are not in the least to blame. My anger was misdirected."

Catherine was surprised by this, but did not wish to press Mrs. Jones on the subject at this moment. They were in a shop, full of customers, and perhaps Mrs. Jones did not feel comfortable discussing this in front of Susan.

"Well, I am glad that we are on speaking terms again, and perhaps with time, you will entrust me with the reason for your misdirected anger." Catherine thought that only a full explanation could help her to fully forgive Mrs. Jones for the cold shoulder she had endured.

Mrs. Jones smiled, "I am sure I shall. Thank you, I am glad we are speaking again, too."

And it was with much lighter hearts that they parted ways this time.


	11. Sarah 'Sally' Morland

Thank you for the lovely reviews, and thank you all for your patience.

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 **Chapter 11: Sarah 'Sally' Morland**

"You will be relieved of your chaperone duties," said Catherine with a smile, "My sister Sarah is coming to Woodston. She will be arriving next week."

Susan smiled back, "I would not call it a relief when the activity was so enjoyed. However, I should very much like to meet her, and I am sure Margaret as well. I imagine they are close in age, are they not?"

Margaret perked up at this and turned hopeful eyes towards Catherine.

"Yes, she is seventeen, a bit younger than you, Margaret. I am sure you would get along well."

Margaret seemed delighted at the arrival of a potential new friend her age, especially one who was unmarried like her. Catherine's marital status imposed upon her a feeling of subservience and ensuing emotional distance she would not otherwise have felt. In Margaret's mind, a married woman was like a much older woman and in such instances a maturity gap must necessarily exist that would prevent an intimate friendship.

At the prospect of Miss Morland's arrival, Margaret's enthusiasm quickly blossomed into conversation. As the days went by, she ventured more often to ask Catherine questions about her younger sister. Catherine was very happy to talk about her sister; it brought back very good memories of Fullerton and her family. In fact, she realised she could not talk about Sarah without talking about her remaining eight siblings. They were a tight-knit family and the memories necessarily meshed them together. She talked about what it was like being the eldest daughter, she talked about her three older brothers, and of course also spoke very tenderly of the little ones of the family, such as George and Harriet. On the topic of Sarah, who was the chief interest, she was equally eloquent. She spoke warmly of her childhood confidante and without realising it gave Margaret little details that provided insight into her character. Margaret was delighted to hear that Sarah had once nicknamed herself "Sally", for there is certainly some comfort to be had in having a silly friend when one's opinion of oneself is low. Alas, perhaps Sarah was just a rebellious teenager, for she could not have been the silliest Miss Morland as she had been able to say the "Beggar's Petition" better than her elder sister.

Soon enough, the next week was upon them and Miss Sarah Morland arrived in Woodston.

"It has always been, and it always will be, a pleasure to welcome a Miss Morland to Woodston," said Henry gallantly while helping Sarah from the carriage.

Catherine, who was already smiling brightly due to the sight of her sister and the excitement and anticipation of the weeks to come, felt her smile grow yet wider, so hard that her cheeks started to hurt, at the memory of when she had been visiting Woodston as a Miss Morland.

The conversation flowed very easily and comfortably. There was no shortage of topics, and they were all pleasant. Catherine remarked with good humour that Sarah was delighting in the same things she had, such as all the little chandler's shops of Woodston, which she had observed in passing. Sarah was not only excited to leave Fullerton and discover Woodston, even though it was only a populous village and certainly nothing to Bath, she was also keen to reconnect with her now-married sister and her new brother. Above all, it should be noted, her enthusiasm was unparalleled with regards to meeting the Newfoundland, who was no longer a puppy, and the two terriers, for she was a keener observer than Catherine and quickly realised there were only two of them, not three.

The very next day following Miss Morland's arrival, the Tilneys and Miss Morland accepted an invitation to Longfield Hall, where Margaret was impatiently awaiting the much-promised friend. She was not disappointed, as Sarah was everything Margaret had hoped. Sarah, who had never had to socialise to make friends, as her nine siblings were friends enough, had slightly subpar social skills which were a good match to Margaret's shyness, which must be acknowledged to be beyond respectable quietness and reserve. Neither had the manners of elegant gentlewomen and there was therefore no pressure to perform these for the other. The other members of the party, after showing brief interest at the new arrival, happily left them to their own devices, and by the time the visit came to an end, Sarah and Margaret already felt inseparable.

Henry spent most of the evening discreetly observing Thomas Wright. Nothing in Thomas Wright's behaviour gave away anything regarding Mrs. Jones. He was as arrogant and unpreoccupied as ever, and it was clear his conscience – if he had one – was not tormenting him in the slightest. In fact, Henry quickly began to notice a worrying trend. When his protectionism of his wife became too fairly obvious, Thomas' eyes would roam and then fix Miss Morland instead and Henry could not help thinking that Sarah possibly appeared as an easier target in Thomas' eyes. However, it seemed that Thomas' behaviour was starting to get repressed by his younger brothers, as both James and Andrew intervened when his behaviour made the ladies uncomfortable. James spoke up during a game of Vingt-un, and Andrew during Commerce. Thomas Wright was such a seducer that not even a competitive game of cards could calm his ardour, Henry thought bitterly, if he just applied the same zeal to improving his mind, he would not be nearly so daft.


End file.
